To Mountain Tarn 



Nydie dam checks at once the upcoming tide 

 and the down-running stream. It is the meeting- 

 place of otter and seal, though the former goes 

 among the sea trout. The curving in the still 

 deep stretch of checked fresh water is striking. 

 The loops, in three or four parallel lines, almost 

 touch, and by a little more fretting of the banks 

 would merge. Two skiffs might sail separated 

 by a neck of land, over which a biscuit could be 

 tossed. It is a miniature of the winding of the 

 Forth below Stirling. 



Round the loops the hunt wound its pictur- 

 esque way. And as it moved the scene became 

 increasingly richer. Trees gathered to the water- 

 side, now narrowing the horizon to the single 

 pool which the dogs were working, again open- 

 ing leafy vistas, charming bends, or glimpses of 

 autumn fields. Through much of this stream- 

 land passed the hunt, without a note from the 

 hounds. Freed from the strain of dramatic 

 incident, the field might yield to the environment. 

 So we came to where the Ceres burn enters the 

 Eden. A veteran, who had lived much by the 

 streamside, had many tales to tell, bearing on 

 the doings of the day ; there be fish tales and 

 otter tales. Two had sat, one on either side of 

 him as he plied the rod, while a third balanced 

 itself on the floating weeds. One wondered if 

 the three were water voles. 



Soon the dogs picked up the scent. The 



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